


catch up on all the lost times

by soulgraves



Series: Blam Week 2015 Fills [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blam Week, Future Fic, Inspired by Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulgraves/pseuds/soulgraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I miss you,” Sam says, because it’s true and because he thinks Blaine should always know this stuff. “When are you back again?”</p>
<p>[For Blam Week 2015, Day 3: lyric inspired.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	catch up on all the lost times

  


[[hourglass](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/catfishandthebottlemen/hourglass.html); _catfish and the bottlemen_.]

you know when you’re gone i struggle at night,  
dreams of you fucking me all the time,  
and i know you’re tied up,  
and i know your phone’s fucked,  
i’m craving your calls like a soldier’s wife.  


  


Sam’s watched through his Netflix queue, finished three commissions, and taken too many cold showers in the last two weeks, his body jittery and out-of-sorts and _lost_ without the comfort of Blaine’s dirty cereal bowl on the counter or his favorite pair of shoes by the door or the scent of his cologne on the pillow. Everything feels empty, and he knows that’s ridiculous, knows it’s just because he’s lonely and bored and missing him, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

This isn’t the first time Blaine’s been on a touring show, and Sam’s so unbelievably proud of him, he’s just forgotten how to sleep alone at night; the first time Blaine had gone away, Sam had visited his folks in Kentucky and barely had a moment’s peace, the second time he’d had a show of his own coming up and been working flat out to make sure all his pieces were perfect. This time he has nothing except his own thoughts and their empty apartment and the sorts of dreams he hasn’t had since high school.

Calls are infrequent, partly because of the show’s schedule and partly because Blaine had been caught in the rain and his phone’s been playing up ever since, and Sam’s trying not to stare at his own cell all the damn time, but the minute it rings he’s across the room and jabbing buttons with a breathless, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Blaine says, and he sounds tired. “Hi.”

“I miss you,” Sam says, because it’s true and because he thinks Blaine should always know this stuff. “When are you back again?”

“Soon,” Blaine says softly. “How’s New York?”

“Boring,” Sam says, and he knows he sounds like he’s pouting and doesn’t care. “It’s a crap city. What city are you in? _That_ sounds like a great city.”

Blaine laughs, and something eases in Sam’s chest. Blaine was born to be on the stage, born for standing ovations and autographs and calls from directors dying to cast him, and Sam knows how much he loves it but he also knows _Blaine_ and the constant fear that doing something for himself will fuck things up. 

“What have you been doing?” Blaine asks.

“Laundry,” Sam says. “So much laundry, and organizing all our DVDs by genre and awesome-rating, and jerking off more than I did when I was fifteen, I swear. Oh, and some painting, I guess.”

Blaine snorts. “ _Sam_ ,” he says, choking a little on the word, and Sam laughs.

“What?” he says. “I miss _all_ of you. Sex toys are not a good substitute.”

Blaine’s laughter is muffled now, like he’s holding a hand to his mouth to try and keep quiet. “I promise we will fix that soon,” he says, and Sam can already picture the two uninterrupted days in bed they’ll have when he gets home and makes a mental note to stock up on supplies before then.

“How are _you?_ ” he asks when Blaine’s breathing evens out again.

“I’m good. The show’s amazing and everyone’s really great, I’m just tired. The importance of coffee runs are not underestimated here. I miss you though, so much.”

“Yeah?” Sam says, and he means it to sound flippant but doesn’t quite manage it.

“Always,” Blaine says, and Sam’s pulse flutters the way it always does when he’s reminded that Blaine chose _him_ , the only person to ever do so and the only person Sam ever really wanted to. He fell in love slowly and easily and without regret and that Blaine loved him too was the missing piece in a puzzle Sam hadn’t even know he was trying to find until it was right there.

“Let’s get married,” he says, looking at the photos pinned to the fridge and Blaine’s childhood blanket over the back of the couch and the weird tea they’ve been trying to like for months still mostly untouched on the kitchen counter.

He’s always thought that when he proposed to Blaine it would be with flowers and candles and fireworks, big and dramatic and screaming to the world that he wants to keep choosing this guy forever. Blaine deserves the _world_ and Sam’s wanted to be the one to give it to him since he was barely twenty and finally figuring out the tangle of emotions fighting in his own head. 

“Okay,” Blaine says, small and awed and honest. “Yes.”

Sam lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and smiles into the palm of his hand. “I’m going to start signing my work Sam Anderson,” he says, not caring if it’s muffled. “Like, right now.”

Blaine’s crying, Sam can hear it in his laugh, and he wants to hold him and kiss him and whisper promises he’ll always keep into his ear, but for now he settles on, “I love you. You should sleep.”

“I love you,” Blaine says. “I love you and I miss you and I’ll be home soon.”

“I know,” Sam says, and the distance between them doesn’t seem as big anymore.


End file.
